“Like I said — patient. They aim for the tail rotor,” the Captain replied. “They pop up and you don’t see them until it’s too late. Sneaky bastards,” he repeated.
There was resentment in Captain Drago’s voice. And though well-disguised, he too held great contempt for the enemy.
Khost was hell on earth, Drago was certain of this. This province was a cesspool of death, filled with barren, harsh terrain and unforgiving mountains.
And behind every rock was a potential threat.
The Mujahideen.
2
The Soviet conflict in Afghanistan had already begun to take its toll. The tide of war was changing, the Soviets beginning to take heavy losses, both sides of the conflict upping their efforts.
The province of Khost had proven to be a great struggle, filled with intense firefights and heavy causalities on both sides. The region was important — many Mujahideen lived there, and both sides wanted victory.
The war was a total mess. A clusterfuck, Captain Drago thought. He’d never voice such an opinion, no Soviet would, but he felt it. He was sure his fellow comrades felt it too.
Why? Because despite their mass of numbers, despite the modern technology and equipment, the Soviets were losing this war. Deep down, Drago wondered if they could truly win.
Were the chants of victory a mere propaganda tool to entice the young Soviets to fight harder?
Yes, Drago thought. He feared the war might never end.
Even worse, he feared they’d lose.
This past year had been the hardest yet. The farther south they pushed, the more losses the Soviets took. Khost was the most chaotic province they’d ever entered, and most Soviets feared the place.
Whereas the western realm of Afghanistan was secured, it was different here.
Here, the Mujahideen ruled.
Here, the Mujahideen fought victoriously.
The province of Khost resides on the far eastern border of Afghanistan, one hundred and fifty kilometers south of Kabul. The Valley of Khost is closed on all sides, hidden by a mountain range of tall peaks, some over nine thousand feet high. The terrain is barren in Khost, rugged — meant only for the toughest of men.
The true survivors.
A final push had been made into the area over the past months. The Soviets struck, the Mujahideen responding. The Siege of Khost it was called, and tens of thousands of dedicated fighting men joined the effort against the Soviet Union. Despite the push, despite the machines and tactics and firepower, Khost was proving impossible to conquer. Here, they were better trained, better prepared, and most importantly, more dedicated.
The fact that helicopters were being shot down so often troubled Captain Drago as he flew. During the war, he’d never gone this far into the bowels of Afghanistan, and the notion of going with so few men gave him pause. The official reports listed only a dozen lost birds over the past months, but Captain Drago knew this was far from the truth. Five helicopters had been shot down in the past month alone.
This news would never escape the region.
Few would know, for the Soviet Union propaganda machine did its job well.
This hot zone, this region, was filled with men who would do anything to bring down a Soviet helicopter. To make matters worse, Mujahideen tactics were evolving, always gaining the advantage, seemingly a step ahead.
The Soviets attempted to fight a conventional war against a people who fought with unconventional methods.
Asymmetrical warfare — a tactic used by the Viet Cong against the Americans not long ago — is a war between two groups whose military power, whose military might, differed drastically. The Mujahideen were outnumbered and they lacked similar equipment, but one thing they had on their side was strategy.
They used what is commonly known as guerrilla warfare against the Soviets. They used their knowledge of the terrain, the climate, whatever strategies they had learned to combat the powerful forces of the Soviet Union.
Asymmetrical warfare used unconventional means to win wars. Bombings, traps, mass onslaughts and waves of Mujahideen whom were ready to die at a moment’s notice.
Unfortunately for the Soviets, they failed to change their own tactics, they failed to adapt.
It’ll be our downfall, Captain Drago thought.
He wondered what it would be like — was survival even possible out here? If the crash didn’t kill them, could they survive long enough to wait for help? Would help even come?
Then, another thought entered Drago’s mind.
What if they were taken alive?
Subjected to Mujahideen ways.
Their ruthlessness was legendary, far greater than rumors; these bastards knew how to fight.
But Drago kept pushing forward, easing the throttle as his helicopter approached a rising mountain. He knew the risks, the perils of flying in such a place. He didn’t like any of it, not at all, but accepted it as his duty, as would any Soviet officer.
Anything for the Motherland, he thought.
3
Captain Drago eased up on the throttle, pulling at the stick, nose up. He looked to each side, the other two helicopters doing the same.
“Kilo Base, this is Firebird Alpha Red,” Drago began. “We’ve reached our grid-point, mountain directly in front. We’re climbing, estimated time to valley crest, twenty seconds.”
And slowly, gracefully, the three birds of war came up over the ridge, climbing the mountain, the easterly rising sunlight lighting them up. The three helicopters were nearly three thousand feet above sea level, rising higher and peering over the ridgeline.
The triangle of helicopters, the three birds of menace, were Soviet-made Mi-24 attack helicopters. The Mi-24 Hinds, as they were called, were perhaps the best invention of their time. They were beautiful in their effectiveness, hearty and bold, their thick shell heavily armored.
The Mi-24 was able to withstand multiple impacts from .50 caliber rounds from all angles; even the titanium rotor blades could take direct hits. The Mi-24 was dubbed the ‘Flying Tank’ of Soviet helicopters, unofficially nicknamed ‘The Crocodile’ due to its camouflage scheme. As it approached, it literally looked like a giant crocodile, and once that close, it was too late.
With a frontal machine gun, thousands of rounds of hot steel, and six rockets resting under the helicopter’s wings, the Mi-24 could take out an entire village if need be. It could be used in aerial combat, though in this conflict, it was best used against ground troops in support of Soviet divisions.
Two top mounted turbo-shaft engines pushed the beasts, making the helicopters capable of doing over three-hundred kilometers per hour.
It was a helicopter both well armored and fast.
At the time, even NATO had no counterpart. Their own helicopters had to be stripped of weapons and backup fuel to incorporate carrying of troops, whereas the Mi-24 did not. It could transport men and act as a gunship.
The three identical helicopters each carried a pilot in front, a weapons specialist behind. In the back, eight men rode in the vacant space. They hung on tight; the ride was quite uncomfortable.
There were thirty men in all, six flight crew, twenty-four soldiers. The men behind sat idle, motionless during the ride best they could. They were quiet, saying nothing, their faces showing no expressions of fear.
Every single one of these twenty-four soldiers was heavily armed. They carried AK-47s, a plethora of 7.62 ammunition, dozens of magazines to hold it. They carried grenades and flares, and were dressed in battle ragged clothing that showed their usage.